


Just Another Cinderella Story

by EtherealOmega



Category: Cinderella (Fairy Tale), Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Atem is Priest, F/M, Non-Sexual Slavery, Rated M just in case, Set is Pharaoh, Slavery, Slight reference to noncon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2018-11-29 16:45:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11444925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtherealOmega/pseuds/EtherealOmega
Summary: A girl once beloved to those of her small village finds herself in shackles, hated for her light skin, alabaster hair, and pale blue eyes. Year later she finds what she believes to be her final home, serving an Egyptian noble, in Naucratis.A young man has been forced to bear the burden of being Pharaoh for far too long already. He is barely seventeen. He is not adorned in all the riches of his predecessors, but his piercing cobalt eyes leave no doubt as to how he gained the respect of his country.Shay holds plans for every being born into the realm of man no matter how slowly they come to fruition. A slave and a ruler are two very different people in the eyes of the populace, but to a god there is little difference. As such it should be of no surprise that sometimes the god of fate takes it into his own hands to meld opposition into beauty.---This story takes place in an alternate universe where Atem and Set's fathers were born in reverse order making Set the heir to the throne and is based roughly upon the old Egyptian story of the Rhodopis, the Greek slave girl, and the Pharaoh being brought together by a straw slipper.





	1. A Girl Enslaved

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for an adorable Tumblr user when they reposted something on the original Egyptian story saying they wanted someone to write a blue/mizushipping piece based on it. This is what's becoming of it. I hope they enjoy.

Laughter rang through the Grecian air as a little girl ran through the square, her bare feet slapping ungracefully against the ground. Those crowding the area found it easy to avoid the blur of white though no amount of distance could spare them their smiles. At the mere age of six, that child had the whole town wrapped around her little finger. In a world of trials even the best of men needed a light. Kisara launched herself into her father's strong arms, and they weren't the only two bursting with warmth when the small girl giggled, "Daddy! Daddy!" Those who watched them pass were privileged enough to gaze upon a man attentively listening to his little girl chitter on about her day. Most thought it impossible for him to ever give her up, even should the world were crash down around him, for she was the heart of them all. It wasn't until two years later that reality would force them face how wrong they were for men have always been best at tearing out their own hearts.  
  
When that day came there were no dark clouds or storms as most troubling stories begin. It appeared underneath a bright sky, amongst a lively crowd. The girl of alabaster, now a bit more graceful, danced between tall figures occasionally stopped by her favorite summons. Barely a breath occurred between the women’s calls and the sound of a gleeful reply for golden tresses running over her skin and between her fingers entranced Kisara. The color was immensely different from her pure white so shaping it into simple designs had become her favorite moments of the day. Even a few coins, a treat, or perhaps a small tune could be enough to have the pale child trailing after the women offering any help they could desire; but at day’s end, only her father would hold her affections. As he returned to her in the dying light, she'd abandon any task to race towards his outstretched arms.  
  
Before their separation, the gloaming had forever been her perfect moment; her father nearly glowed as bright as the sky. The embodiment of her guardian angel who'd keep her safe and brush away the dust of the day stood before her against the dying light, but on that day no angel came for her. Only a man collapsing to his knees before her, cheeks damp with emotion beyond words.  
  
"D…Da…?" Her gentle voice cracked. Fragile fingertips traced dampened paths in confusion.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Kisara…" The familiar voice twisted into a gnarled ghost of itself. Frantically her hands sought fresh purchase in the soft shadows of her oldest sanctuary. Like grasping at a slick rock she couldn't find what her heart was screaming for. No warmth remained in her old home. Kisara's sobs mixed with her father's as his arms wrapped softly around her confused and shaking form for the last time.

She felt so very lost perhaps as lost as his words became on their path to her ears, and too soon, new hands replaced her guardian’s: hardened hands. These held no warmth nor comfort, only cruelty. While her father had taught her love and compassion, those would teach her the ways of harshest realities: pain, ruthlessness, utter exhaustion, emptiness, and the readiness for any possible ending. After that day, the gloaming held no more magic. Now, it merely signaled another ending - often hoped to be her last.

 

* * *

  
  
To stumble through life like a ship without a lighthouse became her life, and just as a ship's anchor-rope wears against the deck, heavy shackles wore her wrists raw. Nestled deep into the cage's straw a still young Kisara nursed the wounds blossoming on her form - alone - instead of with the others who nestled close for warmth. She'd long since blocked out their whispers, their hate. As a tot in Greece, her near bloodless skin had been a blessing from the gods, but here amongst slaves of many nations, it had devolved into a mark of Cain.  It turned into a blatant symbol of inferiority and a permission slip for others to actively show their disdain.. Or appreciation in the case of some sickening men.. Thin shoulders shuddered against the night air and thoughts alike while once bright eyes stared out into the night, virtually hollow.

 

* * *

 

The delicate brush of skin upon her own nearly made the young Greek flinch back. Years of harsh treatment, of blood drawn by masters and fellow slaves alike, had left her unaccustomed to gentleness. Looking back she could barely remember when last she’d been treated with care. Perhaps there’d been brief moments after times of too harsh punishment or during sickness; however, even at their best, those times held no true affection - only pity. Even these soft fingertips brushing over her cheekbones held no true care despite their tenderness. Only an air of subtle disdain melded with a love for the exotic permeated this interaction, and after a million repetitions, this scenario was far too familiar. Time and time again her price remained too high for even the wealthiest to consider her exotic charms worth the cost, and this woman would decide no differently. Cold, cerulean eyes blankly regarded her would be owner and the gold bangles adorning bronzed skin.

Gold.. Oh how it drove people's lives. This woman could sit above all as others were sold into slavery by those they depended on for the sake of a few coins. Everyday those unable to support themselves sold their loved ones to men such as those standing behind her emaciated frame: the men whose cravings for the bright currency drove them to levels of filth beyond reckoning. For some these thoughts may have been a leap of philosophy. For Kisara, it merely came as baggage from a life as the victim of a single parent unable to support them both. An aftereffect of a child sold into slavery so man could live on free of chains. Pushing the thoughts away she instead focused on her throbbing fingers, still recovering from scrubbing cart floors. At least that was one thing no one could take from her.  
  
"Pay the man, Amir, and bring the girl back with you after she aids in your daily tasks." An airy voice broke into her reflections bringing shock with it. Kisara’s limbs felt frozen to her sides. Her feet felt leaden. Her eyes were glued to the noble woman's back as she reentered her litter and was carried away to where the slave girl would make her new home. A heavy purse changed hands and moments later the weight of shackles vanished from the slave's wrists. Her new overseer, who would  rule her life's tempo, motioned for her to follow before setting out towards everything appointed to him.  
  
Kisara rushed to keep up with the man’s long strides and took a deep breath attempting to fully cleanse her mind of clutter. The air was heavy, clinging to her lungs and making it hard to breath and the sand burnt deep into the soles of her feet forcing every iota of her focus upon the effort to stay silent.. She eventually resorted to biting her lower lip, for she'd learned complaints meant severe punishment. Those who called themselves her masters had no time to be concerned with the 'smaller troubles' of life when instead they could tear everything from a slave instantaneously, keeping it simple.  
  
However, her self-control wavered momentarily when coolness hit her toes. The sensation dragged a sigh from her chest and dragged her eyes shut against her will. The shade from stall awnings was a precious gift to the pale young woman, but every gift in life comes as a double-edged sword of sorts. This one was no different; Amir turned on her, his dark eyes cold and hard. Flinching back, the servant began to raise her arms in a guard only to be met by the slightest flash of confusion across his face. He spoke in a deep, rumbling voice after a few moments, "You are quiet, girl. Questions?" His words were strange to her, only a rough approximation of her home language unlike his mistress’ voice from before. Though perhaps she was lucky that they made sense for the most part. Questions? Yes, she had plenty, but none she would put to voice. Instead she shook her head slowly, lowering her sight back to the ground. A gruff _hmph_ emanated from him but no further inquiries were made of her.  
  
The sun hovered just above the horizon and the platinum blonde’s arms cradled too many items to name as their sights finally seemed set towards 'home.' Their return was postponed by the man stopping before yet another vendor beginning to pack up his wares for the day. For what seemed the hundredth time that day, words of a more guttural nature than the Grecian was accustomed to passed between the two people before her in hushed tones. As before an exchange marked the end as a pair of simple straw sandals was exchanged for a few copper coins. The shoes were moments later dropped before her with the simple command of, "Take. Yours." She stepped carefully into them and followed where he lead without further instruction.  
  
Very little time elapsed as Amir showed her where each item they obtained belonged within the estate, though no clues as to her future work were provided. Finally after far too long on her feet, the girl was called to a halt by the flick of a strong wrist. She tensed feeling a multitude of eyes turning upon her, casting suspicious upon her too bright frame. She felt lost against, tossed amongst the waves of uncertainty like the first night away from her father as this man too walked away from her. Before the panic could set upon her, he returned. Taken aback by his return the girl cast her gaze around anywhere but at the two men before her only to be met by glares at every turn. Sympathy was momentarily visible upon the tanned face before its owner left Kisara to the only other amiable person present.  
  
A young man a few years older than herself and of lanky proportions and brown eyes in contrast with her own stood before her in welcome. Everything about him, from his clothes to his grin, seemed out of place here and unfamiliar to her. Everything except for his tawny hair which brought back visions of better days from her past. It was so similar to the locks she'd once loved to guide into arranged dishevelment and call beauty. It returned to her the memories of the activities which had once allotted her kind pats and sweet treats, and she leaned forwards toward him in curiosity though her voice remained nonexistent. His grin only widened while he beckoned her away from the main group of bodies and towards a tucked away corner piled with blankets where three other children much younger than themselves slept peacefully.  
  
The new stranger slid one of the thinner blankets around her shoulders and plopped  down across from her. "My name's Jono." His words were well formed in the language of Greece yet a gravelly accent clung stubbornly to his voice.  
  
"Y-You’re.. fluent in my language?" She breathed out. A beat of silence followed her words then a hearty laugh from the stranger shattered it.  
  
"Well, mostly. My mum taught me, said it was important to remember our her.. heir.. our.." He struggled to recall the word, brows furrowing in frustration. Bursting out in quiet frustration when the word continued to elude him, he startled a little one awake, immediately shushing her back into a comfortable slumber by petting her head. "Ah.. Sorry 'bout that; guess my temper gott’away with me. But mum said it was important to remember where the past ones're from. M'not the best with the words though." The lopsided smirk returned to him.

Over the next few days she came to find his enthusiasm infectious. Despite the years of conditioning she’d undergone to wear down her spirit, some of her childish spunk returned to her in his presence. He taught her many things in a short time, but the lessons would multiply infinitely over the many seasons of her service. In quick fashion she'd learn her tasks and to ignore the other servants who whispered behind their paler counterparts’ backs. It was rare for her to be physically harassed here as she’d once been, though she learned in due time that was more due to Jono's heavy hands than any additional manners on the natives’ parts. Eventually she adapted to the harsher language. It cost her and the other foreign children many sleepless nights as the boy taught them what he could, and, much to her disappointment, she could never quite train herself out of the gentle lilt staining her words. Those nights and the companionship which came with them forged the semblance of a familial bond in the youths, building up a new way of life for them. 

The three children, Hirini and Madu and Rehema, all of varying hues both physical and temperamental aided in her daily cleanings while Jono joined the men in their heavier labor. Madu and Rehema, yet too young for delicate tasks, were set to beating rugs and running unimportant messages across the residence which they did with much glee and laughter. Their long hair of gold and onyx were equally matted by sunset and a grin had split even Madu's face who at sunrise had been sour to the bone. Hirini, on the other hand, older than her comrades, smiled serenely while her hands folded clothes nimbly near the paler girl who bent over the river’s bank to scrub out the grime from cloth. The younger girl's occasional chatter cut through the tediousness of the tasks enough to bring soft smiles to alabaster lips. Everything began to blur into a routine minus the few days when the brunette was called away from Kisara to attend to other duties. 

It was on one of lonely days, three summers since her arrival, that the blue eye’d woman found herself in a secluded bend of the river washing out the belongings of her fellow servants. Where she'd have rushed to finish any clothes belonging to her master and mistress, instead she took her time with tatters enjoying the peace after her other tasks. Kisara merely placed the pieces where they could hang drying in the wind without aid to speed the process along before stripping herself down and scrubbing her current attired. Once those joined the other fabrics, she slid into the river to enjoy the chill against her flushed skin. Even years of life here had failed to darken her skin despite the times the sun had blistered the delicate surface.

Laying her head back into the flowing water, a hum of contentment vibrated through her. These small stolen moments were some of the few moments, outside of those with her new family, she'd come to truly enjoy. However, a strange noise disturbed her peace forcing her to crack open her previously shut eyes. The shadow of a bird circled above her lazily crying out and she allowed her eyes to droop once more; even birds of prey rarely posed a danger to humans unless provoked, there was no reason be bothered by it. That changed the moment she sank frantically beneath the water. The feathery fiend dive bombed her skimming it's claws against the surface of the river. Breaking through the water, air hit the blonde's lungs sending fire through them. She got her feet beneath her, unsteadily making her way to the shoreline grumbling quietly under her breath about how the little miscreant had scared her out of a few years of her life ruining the atmosphere of the river for the day. Her eyes alighted upon the cotton she'd left earlier and her heart dropped. 

The mottled brown eagle from before flew between the curtains of cloth with no regard for feather nor safety. "Hey!" She cried out in the hope of scaring the creature away. Its talons hit sand before the predator's eyes momentarily met hers; it cocked its feathered head to one side before letting loose a piercing shriek. Her hands flew to her ears in a futile attempt to block the stabbing pains and the shrill sounds rang in her ears even after the eagle had ceased its cry. When she finally managed to look up again it was just in time  to see the predator snatch up one of her straw sandals take back to the skies. Her breath caught in her throat and after a brief moment to yank on her still sopping dress, she bolted after the bird in vain.

 

* * *

 

The sun beat down upon her covered back as Kisara doubled over in pain. Her breathing came short and shallow bringing waves of pain along with it. She'd lost the bird brief moments into her chase, but in hope she'd continued to search spurred on only by the thought that perhaps it had dropped her footwear somewhere nearby. Alas, she was left with burning feet and nothing to show for it except perhaps the skin of her shoulders and cheeks burnt to a vibrant red. She knew that returning without both her shoes would constitute discipline and there would be no replacements until she found at least the tattered remains of the missing shoe. Downtrodden and tired, the serving girl made her way back towards the long dried fabric which required gathering before turning back towards what awaited her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jono = Jounouchi  
> Hirini = Serenity (The name means Peace)  
> Madu = Mokuba  
> Rehema = Rebecca
> 
> \---
> 
> As always kudos and comments are lovely and I hope you all enjoyed. Constructive criticism would be a godsend for this piece.


	2. A Boy Enthroned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so terribly sorry for how long it took me to get this next chapter out! Writers block came really hard for the Set chapter, and my college work-load this past trimester was super heavy. I'm on break now though so it'll be a bit better now. I'm hoping to get at the very least the next chapter out before the end of break, but if I can manage I want the majoring of the chapters done by January. 
> 
> Also, if you didn't notice, the chapter count has increased. This is more because of what I want to break the story up by, but it will most likely be longer this way as well. Anyways! Enjoy.~

The silence was deafening as it roared through the empty halls of the royal palace alongside Set's grew childhood. He'd learned how to mute his own footsteps and become a ghost among the tapestries. While others saw a youth growing up among gold and wealth seated upon plush silk thrones, the boy learned the ways of silence, emptiness, and rules meant to be bent and broken until a new reality was formed. By the age of thirteen, the brunette was schooled in discipline first hand having been on both ends of the scepter more times than he would ever be proud of. It was in cousins and 'servants' that he found his solace and voice; his uncle more a father and guardian then his own would ever be.

Sitting among the priests when he could sneak away from his father's side become a regular occurrence. Hiding behind Atem's father, Aknamkanon's, robes, with the much younger boy, became just another common occurrence, and to the nobles it was just another relationship to be controlled and twisted. The skewed reports and words were taken in stride to forge bonds stronger then newly forged steel, and through the years four youths grew together inseparable by the strings bound around them.

The eldest a selfless boy far more powerful than his years should allow. Already bearing the millennium ring, Mahad could have taken the lead, yet he watched and waited instead. A silent guiding force. A protector. Only a few years behind, the future pharaoh constantly played a game of push and pull with the youngest. Brunette and tri-color pushing off one another to grow in power despite the five years separated their maturity. Cousins forming a bond more like brothers then distant kin, and as one was passed the millennium rod as a judge and trusted advisor the other would await his chance to rule. Set and Atem become two sides of a coin unable to function one without another, the younger tempering the elder's harsher tendencies with mercy. The fourth, kept peace within their group through gentle optimism and lighthearted trickery. Born a peasant girl and having found shelter in the care of the eldest, Mana was perhaps the most irreplaceable among them despite the cousins often trying to evade her company in their younger years. These bonds were often what brought them through the current pharaoh's reign alive, and when he finally fell from power by an underhanded death, it was all that stabilized Set's tumultuous world.

For years nothing was completely stable; Egypt became a nation as ever-changing as the sands it was built upon. Old laws of blood and suffering were torn down to make way for something meant a bit more for the people then the rulers. Punishments marked by cruelty were not taboo, but they no longer reigned over every action. Mutiny upon mutiny was dealt with quietly, and the Millennium holders were raised from glorified servants to true priesthoods. Indispensable were Isis with her Necklace provided a guiding light for the young ruler and Aknamkanon always watching from the shadows to keep individuals honest despite their wishes with the gaze of his Eye. The other found their place in their own placed within the circles of judgement, but the three youngest would be the ones forever marked to lead. In the middle stood Set finally crowned, his rose-gold regalia sparing in comparison to his father's marked splendor and the puzzle heavy around his neck. To his right, stood his closest advisor with the rod clutched tightly in his fist. Five years behind but miles ahead, Atem had taken his rightful place as mediator and peacemaker for when his cousin's crueler nature shone too brightly. The last was still a quiet guardian now most often found roaming the burial sites to keep away scoundrels then at his rightful place to the king's left. It was with this man that all began.. And that the new peace was shattered and the distant past came back for its dues.

\-----

It all began in a flurry of rage and pain. With a friend murdered and mutilated nearly beyond recognition. A broken body dropped upon the cold tiles of the pharaoh's throne room. Devastation rang through every soul privy to the sight. Tanned skin now paled by death's touch and untreated in the ancient ways; the body desecrated and soul in mortal danger of never reaching the afterlife.

It began with a pain-driven youth's laugh spreading madness. With a once calm room thrown into shambled by his foot finding purchase upon the wreckage of the Ring's old holder. A spirit long infested with insanity's curse claimed the item which could guide his cause. It had lead him to the one person who could pay for the crimes of a nation. To the one person who could answer for a village slaughtered and boy long forgotten.

The battle of wills permeated the room long before any monsters took corporeal form. The stillness shattered as everything bloomed into a whirlwind of vengeful rage from one leader and sorrowful justice from the other. Both wished the this thief of life to pay, and knew that the priests would come to their aid when the need arose.

A dragon of fortresses and silent magician joined in might fought against a creature long steeped in the traditions of darkness. It's scales molting continually to hide among the alabaster pillars of the palace, and its strikes swift with an intent not to maim or subjugate but to kill outright. Though the priests offered support there was little else they could do - should they stand between the last survivor of Kul Elna and their leaders their fates would be with Mahad.

Souls clashing left a terrible heat then bitter cold in their wake, and long torturous moments passed one after another until all froze. The dragon and magician fell to leave nothingness in their wake. Diabound stood behind it's master reshaped and victorious. The shadows seemed to rise up around them, and the scarred victor grinned in glee his cackle ringing against the stones. A hand accustomed no longer with giving but only taking rose to give the final command before another creature rose from the abyss to oppose him.

A power presence wrapped in black and violet stood between dark and light, sad eyes looking upon the one who had killed him. The magician of darkness, protector of tombs, lifted his scepter and without a word dispelled the creature only to vanish himself. A chill broke through Atem as it happened, and Isis' murmured chants fell silent against the head of a sobbing Mana. When everything cleared the intruder was gone, only a friend lost and destruction left in his wake. Finally the heads of state allowed their own tears to burn bright as they collapsed by the bodies side both holding it and each other close. Their wails shook the keep's very foundations and with it spread the knowledge of the "Bandit King" who had survived against the joined will of the pharaoh and his second.

"Mahad is no more, but his spirit will forever guard you." Isis' spoke when the sounds of mourning finally lulled. "He is forever Atem's to wield and Set's to direct," she smiled though it did not reach her eyes. The priestess knew the path ahead was long, and hope would be lost long before it could be regained.. If it even could be regained. Nonetheless, her hands continually stroked the dark hair of a maiden scared. Then to that young girl she whispered, "But to you forever is his legacy. His guidance will never wain in your life."

Though sorrow abounded in the months to come so too did courage. Both sides attracted followers by the hundreds, and skirmishes were no longer things of the past. This was the closest to war that had been seen in decades, but it was not the battle of men that held the ultimate power. It was in the bloodstained gold of old and the strength of deities that rested fate itself. One by one the Millennium items were taken by bandits in the night. The king left behind corpses. Some of his minions were not as strong in their constitution, unable to take life for his cause.

In the end, though the God of Torment carried out the pharaoh's commands, and two magicians stood constantly by the entity's sides - one of light from a living soul and one of dark the after image of a soul defeated - even Set and Atem were left for dead among the brush. The rod and pendent taken from them as every other item from their companions. Of the original seven, only they and Isis remained alive to stand against the swelling tide. So weeks after their brush with death, the cousins, battered and beaten, supported one another's weight while they stood upon blood steeped ground. This place was both sacred and cursed in turn. The aura swirling through the ruins of a once beautiful place was foreboding for them yet eerily welcoming to the one whom they had come to find.

When they finally found him, the young king of bandits was placing the last millennium piece within the container which had once been used to create them. Around him were newly slaughtered bodies, those needed in sacrifice for the old rites. The sight was gruesome and though the enemy's scarred visage spoke of untamable victory his the dulled orbs whispered only of boundless sadness and longing. This display should have infuriated any who saw it, but in the two who had pursued him it sparked only pity, and in that lay their biggest error. A single misplaced step made in sympathetic hesitance was all it took to bring their chances to an end. They'd ignorantly given up all hope of surprise, and he knew it well. The feral grin that split his face was the last thing the ruler's saw before his screeched incantation brought a bright light crashing through the area.

Then as fast as it had come - it was gone, replaced by an inky darkness. Silence reigned, and the body of Akefia was gone.

"Zorc has come…" Atem breathed out, terror staining his voice. The elder of the two merely acquiesced with a nod before sinking to his knees. Disbelieve pierced his confidant as the youth took in the kneeling figure with head bowed. For Set to give in to anything was unheard of. Since their childhoods, the brunette had been eternally stubborn and rarely swayed from his chosen course. When he was swayed, it never came by force but by reasoning.

In anger the slimmer of the two reached to shake his leader, but quite murmurs gave him pause. They were almost indecipherable, but as the priest strained to understand they came more clearly. Ancient words not heard for centuries tumbled in quick succession from the king's lips: a prayer to the father of the gods. This plea for Ra's power was a last resort few had ever reached towards. Even the strongest of pharaohs gave pause before reciting those lines. The price for the highest god's help was life itself after all, and few cases were worth the life of a good leader. However, now there was no other course, and a king could have no room for pride or regrets.

"You have been a good ruler, cousin.." The other reached out to place both hands upon toned shoulders from what he believed to be the last time and sent out his own prayers for guidance and strength. Around them fires blazed and destruction from chaos incarnate raised the world to the ground, but on and on they prayed. They could not allow this to fail, and they did not.

The moment their prayers ceased, light lanced through the darkness in a blinding beam. A roar of pure power filled the air and Set's body went limp in the arms of his kin. The price had been paid and the chaos was once more forced into the items it'd once called home taking a new soul festering once more with vengeance with it. Atem's sobs were just barely audible over the suffocating winds. Then they were gone as his head shot up in fear. The millennium sarcophagus shone bright once more though still more dimly then when the darkness had been released from its bounds. "Oh gods.. Please no.."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope none of you hate me too much for that ending. This was not originally how it was going to end, but I really wanted to play around with the Bakura plotline and Zorc stuff. In my mind Set would have been a different kind of ruler so these events would have gone differently then with Atem. 
> 
> Kudo, commentary, and criticisms are always welcome. Even if it's just screaming at me for stuff. Hope to see all you lovely's around later!


End file.
